Soul Resurrected (Sons of Wrath, #2) (32 page)

She uncrossed her legs and crossed them again. Damn him for making her nervous. Doubly damn the squeak that told him so every time she moved against the seat. “Why?”

“I’m curious about you.”

“It’s not that I don’t have faith in your inner nice guy. But I don’t think so. Draven will die at my hands. Not yours.”

“You get the kill shot. I just watch your back.”

“That’s sweet, in a twisted way, but no thanks. Really.” She pointed to the approaching overpass. “Just pull over here.”

“Sorry, babe, you’re along for the ride, whether you like it, or not.”

“Can you at least tell me where?”

He flashed her bright, perfectly-straight-toothed smile. “The library.”

She scowled. “You’re taking me to the library? What for?”

“Guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

A shake of her head dismissed the question. “Look, my agenda might not be
important
to you, but every second that I waste checking off your grocery list, my brother’s killer, the one who killed
you
, in case you’ve forgotten, walks around merry and free.”

“I haven’t forgotten shit. It’s called prioritizing kills. The first on my list is finding the bounty hunter who has my brother, the same one that nearly killed
you
,”—he cocked a brow—“in case you’ve forgotten.”

Tou-flippin-ché
. Calla’s lips tightened. “I’m helping you find Zeke, then?”

“Yeah.”

How could she say no to that? Zeke sacrificed himself to save her, after all. She nodded, her muscles finally relaxing alongside her relenting. “Okay.”

CHAPTER 26

“What the hell are we doing?” Calla stared through the windshield as the car pulled into an alley between two buildings, and as if Logan had driven straight into night, the light faded. Garbage littered the ground, overflowing from the dumpster, and bums lay slumped against the brick walls. “This doesn’t look like the library.”

Logan cut the engine. “Don’t look at anyone. Don’t talk to anyone. Stay close to me. If you break any one of these rules, consider yourself dead. And not by
my
hands.”

“One more time. What the hell are we doing?”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re coming with me.”

“Oh, no, no.” Calla sat back against the window. “You just gave me a list of reasons to jump out of this car and run.”

“And know that if you do, I can outrun you before you hit the edge of the alley.” He exited the car.

For a split second, Calla gave serious consideration to bailing—but only a split second before Logan was at her door, opening it. He reached for her hand and gave a gentle tug.

After slamming the door of the McLaren, he placed his hand on the roof and bowed his head. A soft chant just barely reached Calla’s ears before a brisk, cold wind whipped up her hair.

“’Sup, Mr. Logan?” A spectral voice drifted past, leaving a trail of goose bumps across Calla’s skin.

Security ghoul.

Logan tapped the hood. “Be back in a few, Wyatt.”

“I don’t like this unpredictable stuff with you.” Calla crossed her arms.

“Sure you do.” Logan glanced back at her. “In fact, if I had to guess, it’s the only reason you let me kiss you in the library.”

She drew back. “What?”

He snatched up her wrist, leading her through the alley, and spoke over his shoulder. “Innocent, good girl like you? You’re just begging for the opportunity to do something bad.”

“Innocent? I slay wolves. That’s hardly innocent.”

“By human standards, maybe. For a supe, particularly a demon, you’re as pure as they come.”

“I am not pure. I wish you’d quit making me out to be some … Pollyanna, or something.”

“Why does being good bother you?”

At the curve of his lips, so devious, as if he knew that she was drawn to him for reasons that she herself couldn’t even explain, Calla looked away. “Next subject.”

Smack in the center of the snow-slick alley, he yanked her into his chest. “Do I make you nervous?”

“That’s what you want to hear, isn’t it? Why?”

Silence.

“Yes. You do.”

He brushed her hair aside and very gently stroked her neck at the crook of her collarbone. “You should be,” he whispered at her ear. “Why did you come in here with me? No one around. A place you could easily die and no one would hear you scream. Is it because I asked you?”

A chill moved down her spine. “Did I have a choice?”

“You’re drawn to it, aren’t you? That slap to the hand before you’ll stay away from the fire.” His hand snaked up to her throat. “You’re an Alexi female, but you like the danger and play.”

Calla swallowed past the sudden dryness in her throat. Her pulse galloped as if it’d burst right through her veins. “You’re not as dangerous as you like to let on, Logan. You respect your brothers too much.”

A grin skated across his face. “For most females I’m relatively harmless. But it seems my nightmares have an affinity for you—evil seeking out purity, or some shit. I got an addiction to your scent, your touch, which has rendered me somewhat mad, you could say.”

His gaze fell downward—toward where Calla adjusted the dagger she held to his stomach. Nothing more than earthly steel, she imagined a stab to the gut might feel like a bee sting for the male.

His lips curled into what might have been a smile, if he didn’t look so devious. “Knife play. Kinky.” He jerked his head. “Let’s go.”

Logan brought the two of them to a halt right in front of the wall on the other side of the dumpster. The mystery in all of it kept her quiet in spite of the million questions swirling in her head. From his pocket, he pulled a small white piece of chalk and placed it to the wall before letting go of Calla’s hand.

He looked back at her. “You’re gonna see some weird shit. Even for an Alexi.”

Had she wanted to run before, he just sold her on staying.

Logan drew a circle into the wall, brilliantly weaved against the graffiti, so it hardly stood out. With the chalk between his thumb and forefinger, he placed the heel of his hand against the wall, smack in the center of the circle and spoke low.

Calla watched in silence, enthralled.

The edges of the circle undulated and blurred. A blast of heat hit Calla’s cheeks and threw her back a step.

Logan’s hand reached for hers. Her heart beat inside her chest, the mystery of the unknown propelling her forward.

“Stay with me.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze and led her into the … wall?

What the …

Logan’s form disappeared behind the graffiti, pulling Calla along until a sensation like putting a finger through a bubble engulfed her wrist as her hand disappeared.

Calla’s breath hitched and she yanked her arm free, examining her full intact hand. She swallowed a gulp and put her hand through it again. In and out, she shoved her hand through the invisible shield.

A hand shot out and gave a hard tug, wrenching her forward, right through the wall.

A shield of heat passed over her, and a very powerful energy swept through her body. Bright light forced her to raise her hands to her eyes and she fell right into an embrace on the other side.

Logan held her to him, his arm firmly wrapped around her waist.

As Calla opened her eyes and looked around, her eyes widened, as if she tried to absorb every detail of the vision before her.

She stumbled in Logan’s grasp, mouth hung wide. “Oh, my God.”

“Welcome to Orcosia. This is Zhakron. My home.”

The scene was too much to take in at once, as though her eyes moved faster than her brain could comprehend what she was seeing.

The sky cast a gray-blue, almost like a constant dusk loomed. Little light peeked through, but even the break in the clouds overhead revealed the same darkness as the rest of the sky.

Spires of mountains cut into the clouds, setting a backdrop against the magnificent city below. Like an old Italian village, with buildings of varying architecture— some tall like old Spanish castles, some short and rounded like miniature medieval Russian churches. It had almost a Gotham feel, with European charm. Bridges, high and low, crossed over a river that separated the village into two halves.

Calla stepped forward, looking over the edge, confirming that she, too, stood on one of the bridges. She smiled in an attempt to stifle the hysterical giggle trapped in her throat. “It’s … beautiful.” A glimpse of Logan, his gaze riveted on her, had her shying away. A second glimpse, and she tipped her head, marveling over what about him seemed different.
His eyes
. On the other side, they had a brownish shade to them. Beyond the wall, they appeared almost violet.

Mesmerizing.

Beautiful.

Focus seemed to return to his eyes again. “C’mon. We don’t want to stay too long. Humans leave a scent here. Especially ones with pure souls.” His lip peeled back into a crooked smile and Calla rolled her eyes.

Down the path to a sidewalk, Logan led her where others passed.

Don’t look at anyone. Don’t talk to anyone. Stay close.

Out of her periphery, she noticed the clothing didn’t vary too much from the other side. Some women seemed to carry themselves very regally, while others seemed more casual, and Calla wondered if class was split the same, between the rich and the poor, though she hadn’t crossed a single bum.

They walked riverside, and the long boats, almost like gondolas, glided along the water. Below the surface, long, slithering snake-like creatures zipped past one another, like sharks circling beneath the boats.

A shiver ran down her spine at the thought of falling in.

In spite of the creepiness, the place carried a very romantic ambience. Not at all what she’d have expected from the underworld.

Soft lights, almost like the amber glow of a flame, climbed the buildings, so enchanting and picturesque—inviting. The kind of scenery she imagined where lovers sat across from each other, sipping wine, like Van Gogh’s Café Terrace at Night.

“So, where are the flaming pits of hell and eternal suffering?” she asked.

“Obsidius. Though there’re some villages that are pretty bad.”

“When you say you’re from here, I thought you were … from Detroit?”

Stupid question alert.

“Demons are born with origins, even if they didn’t happen to grow up there. My father was born here. So, when I left Obsidius, this is where I stayed for a while. Zhakron is my origin.”

“Why would you ever go back? It’s beautiful here.”

“It’s like going back to live with your parents. Nothing like being under the watchful eye.”

“Wrath? He’s here?”

“He lives in the royal city, but likes to sic his spies on me. It’s charming, but don’t forget, it’s teeming with demons, Calla. All breeds. Some very deadly.”

“What are we doing?”

“Finding out what’s up with these maggot fuckers I keep seeing. Not like we’re going to figure it out at the local library up top.”

“So, where are we going? The local library down under?”

“Yeah.”

He came to a stop in front of a tired-looking shop. White patches in the brick revealed where it’d chipped away. The wood didn’t look like the usual wood from the other side. Patterns etched into the finish held deep grooves.

Calla tipped her head.
Script?

“They tell a story,” Logan said behind her. “How the tree came to be, and when it went into the Stygias.”

“Stygias?”

“The light at the end of life.”

“Do the demons carve these into the tree?”

“No, the tree grows with the grooves. It’s a language we’ve translated in books.”

“I think that’s beautiful, to have stories carved into the body like that. Like a tattoo.”

A bell rattled and a demon male, short and podgy with white hair, exited the shop. Calla glanced away from the scowl on his face, but his long gaze had her feeling on edge until Logan finally pushed past him and entered the shop, drawing her along with him.

The scent inside reminded Calla of apples, or something sweet, over the undertones of aged books. Books lined shelf after shelf, and extended upward into the tall ceiling. Incredible. How many fascinating stories could there possibly be in one place?

Logan led her to the counter.

A seemingly human-looking male peered over and spoke a language Calla had heard before but didn’t understand. As Logan spoke back, a vulnerability washed over her as she wondered what it might’ve been like if Logan hadn’t accompanied her. How absolutely frightening the beautiful place could be without him. Calla couldn’t deny, she
liked
needing him. Her hand curled around his bicep, and Logan gave a second’s-worth pause in his conversation.